


One Taste

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afternoon delight, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Issues, Fingers getting cut off, M/M, Power Dynamics, as usual, work injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ASoIaF kinkmeme prompt: "Davos comes to Stannis' office and goes down on him during his lunch break." Should have been simple, turned out not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Taste

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday gift for one of my true inspirations, [ididntcomeheretoeatfruit](http://ididntcomeheretoeatfruit.tumblr.com). Thank you for a year of friendship and for always coming through when I need a writing boost. Happy happy birthday!

Nothing sounded good for lunch. Melisandre was going out for Indian, Asha was taking her brother to a diner, Renly was headed out for Italian with a client. He’d invited Stannis as sort of an afterthought and of course there was no way Stannis could accept when the invitation was given like that. There was the burger place and the Chinese deli right around the corner, plus the Thai restaurant that was too expensive but might just be the best option on a day like this: cold, blustery, but not about to snow. 

As always when he was frustrated, idle — or hungry, he had to admit — his thoughts traveled toward the man he lately couldn’t stop thinking about. Davos Seaworth worked in the printing press of the Baratheon publishing company. He was missing the tips of four fingers, and Stannis had done some digging into the personnel files — _it’s your right, you’re the CFO,_ he reminded himself — and found that he had lost them in an accident at work. Stannis had read on, horrified, until he had read that Davos had received a tidy settlement and new, less manual duties from the former CEO — who happened to be Stannis’ own, dearly departed father. That must mean Davos was quite a bit older, Stannis realized with a jolt. Somehow, this should have disgusted him. Maybe he was almost Steffon’s age. But it didn’t. Instead, it had made this — the problem — much worse. _Better_ , insisted the little voice in Stannis’ head that wouldn’t stop flashing images of Davos, the one time he had seen the man, into his mind. The images and the sound of Davos’ voice sent a bolt of sensation from his brain down his spine and into his groin. Stannis cursed himself. Was he going to have to go to the executive bathroom and take care of this himself?

Or was there another way?

He’d heard through some awkward feeling around for gossip that Davos Seaworth was probably queer. The secretaries who flirted and sometimes slept with the other pressmen and the mailroom guys didn’t know _how_ queer, since he had at least four or five kids and was divorced from their mother, but had also been seen making out with a guy he’d bought to the company Christmas party. Stannis had skipped that party — he’d had an argument with Robert that day and was staying home to sulk, and make a statement. Now, though, he wished he’d gone. Or would it have been worse? To see Davos for the first time on the arm of someone else, while Stannis himself lurked alone in a corner, nursing a drink that he didn’t even want? Would it have been better to meet him the way he did — at a cramped, impromptu pot luck, when Stannis had wandered into the press foreman’s office for a file one recent evening and come across a cozy group eating food they had all brought?

The foreman, Rodrik Cassel, had invited Stannis in like it was nothing at all to have a C-level executive pop by. “You eat dinner yet, Stannis?” Cassel stopped just short of calling Stannis “sir” and Stannis was grateful. “We try to bring homemade stuff in every month or so, instead of eating fast food for once. Sal brought a ham. Who brought these potatoes? Oh, Will, that’s right, of course. Davos made his seafood stew. Even if you already ate, Walda’s tarts are not something to miss, are they, boys? Raspberry this time? So good. Mm-mm!” Cassel had let this fly almost all in one breath, but everything after “Davos made” was a little bit of a blur. Stannis had caught sight of a man who… well, he couldn’t really say what happened. He had taken his breath away, was all. Rugged, handsome, older, bearded, with wavy hair pulled back into a neat ponytail — and under the grey-and-white beard, a smile so warm Stannis actually started to perspire.

“Oh, I… I couldn’t. Thank you. I didn’t bring anything to share.”

And then the voice. Low and calm, the slightest bit gravelly, as if he’d just finished a cigarette. Stannis felt himself growing even warmer.

“We’ll let it go this time,” Davos said. Brown eyes shining with mirth. He must have known who he was talking to, and he didn’t care.

“Please do have some, Mr. Baratheon,” said a heavyset, rosy-cheeked young woman — Walda, with the tarts. “We always have too much.”

So Stannis had found himself seated in the office, on a crate — Rodrik had of course offered his chair, and Stannis had of course declined. The food was better than most of what he could get at the restaurants around the office. He skipped the ham, but had some potatoes, salad, tarts, and of course, Davos’ stew. All of it was good, wholesome, home-tasting. There was something a little metallic, exotic-tasting in the stew that tugged at his taste buds — “Saffron?” he guessed.

“Good,” Davos said, surprised. “Not many people can figure out that’s what it is.”

“It’s delicious,” said Stannis. The look that passed between them went on at least three seconds too long — with the saffron tingling on Stannis’ tongue — and he stood up awkwardly, quickly. “Thank you all,” he said, turning to leave.

It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his office — loosening his tie, running his hands through his damp hair — that he realized he had forgotten the file.

 

Now it was half past one and the memory of Davos’ cooking and Davos’ eyes and Davos’ beard, grey and white and dignified and maybe coarse or maybe soft, wouldn’t leave him alone. When did they start, down there? He took a breath and dialed Cassel’s desk. _What the hell am I doing?_ he thought in a panic, but before he could figure it out, Cassel answered.

“Oh, hello, Mr. — Stannis…! What can I do for you?”   
“The other day when I came down to get those papers, about the Stark Outfiiters account,” Stannis said, trying to slow his breathing. “I actually didn’t end up taking them. Would you mind sending … or if I came down …”

“Of course, of course, just one second. I can send someone up. I’d come myself but this foot—“

“No, no, don’t burden yourself, Rodrik. That— that man I met, who made that seafood stew. I … I understand he has sons … one of them is the same age as my niece Myrcella … There was something I wanted to ask him about a school. A program. Is he possibly around to come up and chat?” _Gods_. But it was done.

“Davos! Of course, yes. His shift starts at two, but he might be here now. Let me just go and check, all right?” A minute passed. “Stannis? Still here? Okay. He’ll be right up with those papers. I hope he can help you out.”

—

Davos’ stomach was doing a nervous dance that he hadn’t felt it do in a very long time. Why exactly was he being summoned to the CFO’s office? Rodrik said something about one of Stannis Baratheon’s kids being the same age as one of his. It was all sort of a jumble once his boss had said Stannis wanted to see him. Since the pot luck a week ago where the press crew had found themselves hosting the second most powerful man in the company, Davos hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the handsome executive, down there in his suit and tie with his chiseled face and five o’clock shadow and those blue, blue eyes. When Stannis had, unaccountably, mentioned the saffron in his recipe, he’d caught Stannis’ glance with his own and had tried — really tried — to let go. But for long moments it was impossible. 

_Impossible_ , he’d said to himself later, thinking of just what he’d like to do to that nice suit and that tie, and that stubble and that hair. The man was at least four income tax brackets above him, and probably looked down on blue-collar workers that much no matter how much he pretended to like their food, and — to be honest — he was probably straight.

But here he was, on the long elevator ride to the sixth floor where all the execs had their corner offices with their big picture windows. If Stannis wanted to talk about schools, then they would talk about schools. If only Davos could fight down the feeling of wanting to tear the man’s clothes off they might get on just fine.

The door was open when Davos stepped out of the elevator and he could see Stannis behind the desk. His heart did another ridiculous flip. Or was it his stomach? Or both? _Hells_. Well, here he was. He clutched the manila file like a lifeline and willed himself to get it together, to be the guy he always was when he wasn’t lusting like a teenager after someone he didn’t even know.

“Hi,” he said, in response to Stannis’ curt nod. “I’ve brought your paperwork. Rodrik said you wanted to chat?”

“Close the door,” Stannis said abruptly. Davos did. The tension was palpable. “Please … sit down.”

Davos did.

“Thank you for coming,” Stannis began. He seemed to give himself a shake, and looked directly into Davos’ eyes. Yes, that same jolt was there, all right — the one Davos had felt in Rodrik’s office. It was impossible to miss. 

“I won’t waste your time,” the CFO continued. “This isn’t about your kids. I could have gone to get this downstairs myself. I’m not so important that I need other people to run things up to me.”

“That’s a relief,” Davos said, sotto voce.

“I wanted to see you particularly. I imagine you…”

“Wanted to see you, particularly, as well?” Davos cut in, daringly. “You would be right.”

“Oh,” Stannis exhaled. Davos could almost feel the breath, and the relief in it. “You just made things easy for me.”

The admission seemed to make Stannis more human and Davos was able to relax, to settle into his usual easy conversational style now that he knew Stannis wasn’t going to throw him out or get him fired. But he was still wound spring-tight inside.

“So I’m here,” Davos said. “And I’m glad to be here. Did you want to go out later maybe or— are you busy this—”

“This weekend is too far off,” Stannis cut him off. Davos stared. “I have hardly been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you in Rodrik Cassel’s office.”

“My cooking was that good?” Davos quirked a half-smile at Stannis, but he was genuinely shocked. There was no way he had been thinking anything like _that_ would come out of that mouth. The firm, severe lips, which Stannis licked now as he spoke. _Oh no._

“Your cooking was excellent,” Stannis said with no trace of irony, with a sincere tone that Davos found disarmingly lovely. “I would like to sample it again.”

“But not this weekend,” Davos agreed. It was, absolutely, too long to wait. “Tomorrow night? I’m off.”

“Tomorrow night, yes. But for now …”

Davos found himself on the sleek leather couch, he wasn’t sure how — taken there by Stannis, whose tall body and long limbs seemed to catch him and _impel_ him to the sofa. A breath hung between them — Stannis’ panting exhale and Davos’ steadying inhale — and then they were kissing, noses bumping and the wet sounds of tongues exploring and Stannis’ guttural groan when Davos, beside himself with arousal, bit down on Stannis’ bottom lip. 

“You like that,” Davos muttered into Stannis’ mouth, pulling Stannis’ crisp cotton shirt out of his waistband and up, digging the nails of his good hand into Stannis’ back, the hot skin giving way beneath. “You like that too? A little rough?”

“I don’t know what I like,” Stannis managed, groping at Davos’ lower back with one hand and the back of his neck with the other. “Just whatever you’re doing, keep going. … Please,” he added with a shudder as Davos leaned down to nip, somewhat less than gently, at Stannis’ jawline. Keep going, was it? Davos was delighted to.

He found himself straddling Stannis’ lap, pushing him up against the back of the soft couch — Stannis’ shirt half unbuttoned, Davos’ tongue following each undone button, lapping at the skin — when he knew what he wanted to do, and what Stannis wanted him to do. He reached to unbuckle Stannis’ black leather belt — a task he had gotten used to doing with only one hand — when Stannis stopped him, pushed his hand away. 

“Let me,” he said, frowning at Davos’ other hand, breathing raggedly. “How did that happen? I know it was here …”

Davos stood, and Stannis winced as if struck. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t even want to discuss it …”

“I do want to discuss it,” Davos said, “or rather I don’t mind, but what I’m doing now is taking you over to your fancy office chair, so you can sit at your desk while I— well.” Davos grinned at Stannis’ sharp intake of breath. “You’ll see. You okay with that?” He didn’t quite know why he wanted so much to leave the comfort of the leather couch for a cramped position under a desk, but something about it was incredibly sexy — he wanted to imagine Stannis on a phone call, or maybe having an important meeting, with his cock in Davos’ mouth and his hand fisted in Davos’ hair.

He looked at the clock as he made his way to Stannis’ desk. Somehow only fifteen minutes had passed. “I’m supposed to be down there now, in the pressroom,” he remarked. 

“I’ll apologize for your absence later,” Stannis answered — Davos knew he would. He couldn’t hide his triumphant smile. He also couldn’t fit comfortably under the desk, no matter how he tried to contort himself. After a moment of awkward shifting, he spun Stannis in his chair a half turn, and knelt down on the carpet between his spread legs in their pressed slacks. He could not believe how erotic this all felt, even with the slight catch on the zipper that Davos had to pull free to get the pants down, even with the silence that fell between them as Davos looked up into Stannis’ face. 

“Now about my hand,” he said, skating his shortened fingers up and down Stannis’ erection, still in his underwear for now. “It was too late at night and I wasn’t paying attention. I was trying to adjust a plate and I got my hand caught between two cylinders. Are you following?”

He could see Stannis struggling to reconcile what he was hearing with what he was feeling — the horrible injury along with the result of it — and the juxtaposition was oddly compelling. Stannis didn’t even answer, just leaned back in his chair with his eyes clsoed and nodded. Davos went on, sliding his other hand up the inside of the boxer shorts and tickling at the short hairs along the inside of Stannis’ thigh. “So the first joint of all four of my fingers got crushed. At the hospital, they had to amputate because there was just not enough left to work with… Still okay?” He cupped Stannis’ balls and gave a warm, brief squeeze. 

“Yes,” Stannis gasped. “I … you …” He seemed to get ahold of himself with an effort. “I looked it up … you at least received an appropriate amount of compensation for your suffering on … on behalf of this company.”

“Your father was very generous,” Davos agreed, grinning. “Up,” he added, lifting Stannis’ ass off the chair to slide his boxers down his legs. “Better pay than worker’s comp would’ve been.”

“My father,” Stannis said. His eyes fluttered closed again as Davos traced his fingers up Stannis’ inner thigh, then along the thick vein of his cock. “He was a good businessman. A good man. I always wanted…” He let out a sudden hiss as Davos wrapped his hand entirely around him before gathering words again. “I always wanted to think he would be proud of how I’ve done …. things here.”

“You want him to be proud of you?” Davos asked. Somehow it didn’t feel in the least odd to be discussing Stannis’ daddy issues while he had his hand around the man’s cock. Why didn’t it? The look on Stannis’ face was answer enough. The dissonance between talking about his father and relishing Davos’ attentions made him look vulnerable, contemplative and so, so open. Davos got the idea he was seeing something few people ever saw. It was electrifying.

“I would like that,” Stannis said, eyes closed, “if he were.” Stannis convulsed in his chair with each of Davos’ minute movements — a tighter grip, a sliding of skin, a thumb circling the most sensitive parts of him. Davos wondered if part of Stannis’ evident, bewildering attraction to him was that he was older — maybe old enough to be Steffon Baratheon? To somehow give Stannis the reassurance he needed was a thing Davos would very much like to do.

“I think he would be.” Davos was very close to Stannis now, almost whispering into the crease of his thigh. Stannis shuddered at the words and his skin erupted in goosebumps. Davos wet his lips. “ _I_ am,” he said, actually meaning it, not just acting the part, “proud of you.” And sheathed Stannis deep in his mouth, bringing Stannis’ hips off his chair and an unrestricted moan to his lips. It was, possibly, Davos’ most triumphant moment.

There was no slow, langorous tease of tongue or teeth — not this time. It was too urgent and fast for that, with Stannis tremoring in his chair and Davos riding it out along with him to the very edge of what he thought Stannis could stand. He pulled Stannis’ hand to the back of his head, pleading silently that he would know what to do, and when Stannis tangled his hand in Davos’ hair the feeling was just as tantalizing as he thought it would be. A purr of approval arose in his throat unbidden, and it vibrated all along Stannis’ cock and he came in a surprised spasm, his eyes flying open and his hand jerking Davos’ head back by his hair. Davos very nearly came in his pants from that alone, and he sat back on his heels, his head swimming. 

“Sweet gods,” Stannis said in a half-whisper. “Thank you. … You’re … you’re going to be quite late. … Come here.” 

Almost shyly, he pulled Davos to him. He kissed him long and deep, fitting their bodies together so Davos’ cock was up against his belly, and he slid his hand down gently — too gently — into Davos’ jeans. At the first hesitant caress, Davos was writhing, trying to get more contact, more friction, more _Stannis_. “Just … a little … more,” Davos gasped, begging. And Stannis obliged. Davos climaxed in Stannis’ warm hand, collapsing against him in a heap. He opened his eyes after a moment and looked over Stannis’ shoulder. The windows were still open, though he saw nothing but sky and concrete. The clock read 2:30. He could feel Stannis’ come drying along his neckline, and he smiled. There had never been a better start to any workday.

—

Nothing sounded good for lunch, but Stannis made do rather cheerfully with a granola bar and a pack of fruit gums from the vending machine in the building’s basement. On the way back up in the elevator, Stannis stared glassily at his reflection in the mirrored walls. He still didn’t know exactly what had hit him. Somehow the pressman Davos Seaworth had managed to hit all of his buttons at once — as easily as someone could do to the buttons in this elevator — and bring him to some crazily dizzying peak of emotion and sex that he hadn’t really imagined could exist outside of sex manuals and pornography. Even something that should have been humiliating — talking about his father in that situation — just seemed right and healing and he wanted to do it again, to explore how Davos dealt with that, to see if the rightness would go on and on or was just a one-time anomaly.

Stannis unwrapped his granola bar and blushed as he put the end in his mouth. Would he even be able to stop thinking about Davos long enough to eat? Probably not, but that wasn’t really a problem. In just a day and a night he would be able to sample Davos’ cooking again — rolling saffron and cream and spices around in his mouth — and sample Davos too, every nuanced taste and portion. This lunch had taken the edge off his hunger, but he knew it would be a long time before it was completely sated.


End file.
